


The 'H' in Jean.

by grantaire (AllieisaWriter)



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Falling In Love, Friendship/Love, Gen, M/M, Modern Era, Multi, Poetry, Unrequited Crush, pining!jehan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-19
Updated: 2014-01-05
Packaged: 2018-01-05 04:35:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1089681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllieisaWriter/pseuds/grantaire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jehan realizes he's in trouble when he falls head over heels for Courfeyrac; but that doesn't stop him from dreaming. A hopeful poet smitten by the flirting Center- and somehow it becomes everybody's business. Except for Javert. He couldn't care less about the romantic fallacies of these dumb protesting students; he just wants to do his job. </p><p>Background ships include: corfius, enjolras xgrantaire, joly x bosseut x musichetta, enjolras x feuilly, etc etc.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. tastes like moist.

**Author's Note:**

> I really love Jehan/Courf. I really love Jehan full stop. Anyway, I hope you bear with me; as this is possibly my first multi chapter fic, and I am a sucker for filler chapters.

When Jehan liked someone, he  _really_ liked someone. He sighed over his warm milk and honey in the evenings. Every poem he read had a way of reminding him of his tormented heart. He tossed and turned in bed. He watched romantic comedies and switched the characters for their real life equivalent. He had always been a bit of a dreamer; but when his friend Montparnasse takes a break from his heavy schedule of making himself look good and running about town with his terrifying gang of misfits to comment on Jehan's state of mind, he knows he's well and truly fucked. 

It all started a while after he met the love of his life in question, Courfeyrac. A few months afterwards if we are going to be completely truthful. At first, Jehan hadn't really thought about his friend in that way. Simply a fellow student with a mind for social equality and brain for law. Sure, he was rather attractive, but Jehan had a thing for broody bad boys and Courfeyrac certainly wasn't that. In fact, out of their friendship group, Jehan was far more enamored with Grantaire. 

So really, it was as surprising as walking down the street and bumping into your literary hero (though what are the chances of crossing paths with Emily Berry?) when Jehan realised that he was completely and utterly under Courfeyrac's spell. One rainy afternoon, Jehan had been sat in the cafeteria on campus, picking apart a sandwhich that tasted the way the word "moist" sounded, when Courfeyrac had sauntered up to him. His curly hair was frizzing as it dried, he had obviously gotten caught out by the bad weather. 

"Mind if I sit?" He asked, and Jehan shook his head, offering up a smile and looking away from his lecture notes. Courfeyrac flung off his coat and let it rest on the back of his chair before flopping himself down on the seat. He straightened himself out almost immediately put his feet up on the chair as he crossed his legs underneath him, resting his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands. "The weather outside is frightful"

"But the cafeteria is so delightful." Jehan responded almost immediately, enjoying the way Courfeyrac's half-pout transformed into his usual easy grin as he threw his head back and laughed. 

"But quite overpriced!" Courfeyrac carded his fingers through his hair, tugging at the ends slightly as if trying to squeeze out the droplets of water. 

"And really not quite worth it." Jehan said loftily, making a face at his half eaten sandwhich. He pushed it to the side. 

"Enjolras and I have been talking about setting up a petition for better cafeteria services for ages now." Courfeyrac said thoughtfully. "But 'Ferre is worried that if we bring the lack of service and actual edible things to the faculty then more people will lose their jobs, and we wouldn't really help anyone in the long run." Courfeyrac shrugged as though it was no big deal, but Jehan knew that Courfeyrac probably agreed with Combeferre, and it killed him that he couldn't bring some sort of action to improve everyone's life simultaneously. 

"Maybe we should all just find somewhere else to go eat or get coffee in between lectures. Stop funding the grossness." Jehan suggested.

Courfeyrac nodded, and the two sat in loud silence for a bit as Courfeyrac responded to someone's text and Jehan watched him. Jehan liked watching people; not in a creepy way, but it was the best way to pick up on mannerisms, notice small details, that were usually hidden under the pretence of small-talk. Courfeyac's neutral expression was a lazy smile, one corner of his mouth turned up, as though he always had something funny on the edge of his tongue and was ready to share it with whoever was willing to listen. His eyelashes were crazy long, nearly as long as Montparnasse's even. His left leg jigged, despite it being crossed, and Jehan wondered how one earth Courf was comfortable in that position.

"See something you like?" Courfeyrac hadn't even looked up from his phone, but he must have felt Jehan's gaze.

Jehan laughed, not embarrassed at being caught out. "Maybe." he answered coyly. Courfeyrac looked up at that, placing his phone on the table, and raised his eyebrows.

"Of course you do." He winked. "What's not to like?"

"There's the ego, for one." He smiled though, to let Courfeyrac know he was only joking. Conversing with Courfeyrac was always good flirting practice, Jehan reflected, it seemed to be his default mode- the first part of Courfeyrac that everyone saw. Jehan wondered if there was more than politics and lust that went on in his brain. There must be, people were always more than the first impression they gave off. Little did he know. 

Courfeyrac pouted anyway. "You love me." he protested. 

"I make a point to love all living things. I love worms too, so it's not saying a lot." Jehan smirked, before putting his book into his satchel, making note of the time, but not rushing to get to his next class. 

"Watch it, Prouvaire, you could hurt my feeling you know." Courfeyrac grinned. Jehan rolled his eyes and stood up. 

"I'd love to stay and tell you all about how  _fantastic_ and  _handsome_ you are, but I simply must go." he swung his bag over his shoulder.

"But baby, its cold outside!" Courfeyrac countered, giving them both a moment to snigger. "Fine, go on, leave me. I'll just sit here until someone nicer comes along to rescue me."

"You won't find nobody nicer than me!" Jehan sing-songed, before making his way to class, out into the rain he realised that he literally could not stop smiling. 

Well,  _shit._  


	2. fee-diddly-darn-eelings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jehan does spoken word. Moonlit walks occur. This is not romantic in the slightest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mostly filler- sorry, I suck.

Jehan had a monthly poetry reading night; a spoken word event that he used to showcase his month’s work. It was quite nerve wracking, no matter how many times he’s stood at the podium and let the words do their job, but he’s slowly started to get a fray of people who recognize him and clap appreciatively when he’s done so he supposes he’s done something right. Usually, only Bahorel turns up out of his group of friends. Feuilly tries, but he’s usually so busy that it was a miracle to even get him to the one he attended. Grantaire turned up twice to support Jehan, but lately he seems to be far happier (well, that may not be the right word) to be drinking at a dive of a bar instead of sitting in a poetry café with pretentious writer types.

He handed Rosie, the café owner, his fee for reading aloud when she noted that Bahorel was here with friends. Jehan turned quickly from where they stood in the corner to see Combeferre, Courfeyrac and Enjolras arranging their items and sitting down at a table. Courfeyrac waved cheerily at Jehan and Jehan raised his hand back shyly. Enjolras looked very grumpy, and Combeferre seemed to be trying his best to placate him. Bahorel just looked like Bahorel.

Jehan watched them while someone else read before him; they were steadily getting more and more drunk as the night went on. Enjolras was tinted pink and clapped politely when someone finished, Bahorel whooped everyone as they stepped off the podium, Combeferre was squinting behind his glasses, but Courfeyrac just looked bored. Jehan suddenly felt the pressure rise up within him; usually he dressed up for a reading- leather trousers and floaty top, studs everywhere, heavy Doc Martens, and he got his room-mate Montparnasse to sort out some smoky eye make up for him, but now he just felt like all that preparation hadn’t prepared him at all. Now he had the literal personifications of the three heads of a pagan triple deity sitting and watching him; and even though deep down he knew they were here to support, he felt like it was worse with them.

As he stumbled up to the podium, Bahorel whooped once more, and Jehan flashed him a nervous smile. He shuffled his papers and let the words take over him. The words’ natural rhythm transported him to another world where letters danced on the clouds and syllables were musical, each twist of a tongue, each sound bounced him and his listeners from realm to realm. He forgot about his friends stood there, he forgot about how awful the world was, he forgot about how beautiful nature was, he was completely focussed on trying to do his words justice.

He finished, but took a few moments to compose himself, he vaguely heard the clapping of the audience and that gave him the courage to look straight at the table his friends had occupied. Everyone was smiling and clapping, so he let out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding and made his way towards them.

“That was brilliant, Jean!” Bahorel was first out of his seat, slapping the smaller lad on the back.

“Thanks Bahorel.” Jehan smiled, ignoring the use of his terribly plain and unromantic name. He looked to the other three in curiosity. They had all at some point shown interest in Jehan’s ‘hobby’- Combeferre loved the ones describing autumn nights, Enjolras had asked Jehan to write a few poems about the state of the state (Enjolras had grinned to himself slightly at the word play) and Courfeyrac was just interested in everyone’s passions- simply happy they had a hobby. “And thanks for coming guys.”

“It was definitely our pleasure.” Enjolras smiled. “Courfeyrac persuaded us to take the night off from studying, so we thought why not come here and support you?” Courfeyrac beamed at his friends, his hand placed lightly on Enjolras’ shoulder.

“I told you it’d be a good night!” he exclaimed. “Bahorel said so, and I just knew if he liked it then I would. And if I liked it then these two losers would too.” Enjolras rolled his eyes.

Combeferre pushed his glasses over the bridge of his nose. “You’ve been holding out on us though, Jehan. Saving your best poems for the adoring public were you?”

Jehan shrugged. “Some are made for reading to yourself and some are made to be said out loud.” He explained with an extra hint of nonchalance as though it didn’t matter.

Combeferre nodded with interest. “I really like the themes of this one.”

“Friendship, right?” Enjolras asked. Jehan nodded, and stole Bahorel’s drink. Bahorel faux-glared at him but he didn’t do anything to stop Jehan.

“The overall theme was warmth, I guess.” Jehan suggested, hoping it had indeed gotten through to them.

They sat and drank for a while, the subject of poetry moving onto the ideal future of education and then onto if each person were _president of the world_ what would be the first thing they would change. Enjolras’ answers were obvious; freedom for all, equality for all, share out the world’s resources equally even if it meant the western world would have less supply than demand. Everyone made hearty noises of agreement. At this point, Combeferre apologised profusely but left, because he had a class the next morning. Enjolras prepared to go with him but not before he turned to Courfeyrac.

“You coming? We have a nine o’clock seminar remember?”

“I might stick around for a bit longer.” At Enjolras’ half-frown he added with overly fake enthusiasm, “ but save a space for me! I’ll be there bright and early learning all about wills and testaments!”

Bahorel laughed after they’d departed. “Love how they don’t even ask me if I’m going in anymore.”

“Buddy, we know a lost cause when we see one.” Despite his words being harsh, his tone of voice was kind. Courfeyrac looked to Bahorel. “You should go in tomorrow! You and I can be hungover together!”

Bahorel looked like he was going to say ‘fuck no’ but the pull of Courfeyrac’s puppy eyes made even Enjolras a little weak; so on someone as soft hearted as Bahorel it was like a nuclear weapon of honey brown eyes, that softly reduced Bahorel’s resistance into a mushroom cloud of ash. Jehan watched them, chuckling under his breath at the exchange. Courfeyrac certainly knew how to work his assets to get what he wanted.

Only an hour after the others had left did the three of them then also decide to call it a night. Courfeyrac swore to Bahorel that he was going to hold him to his promise, and would pop round tomorrow morning bright and early and drag him to the seminar if he had to. Bahorel responded with an eloquent form of “fuck you”, hugged Jehan goodbye, and jumped on the night bus home.

“How are you getting home?” Courfeyrac asked, after ensuring that Bahorel was indeed on the right bus.

“Oh, I thought a nice moonlit stroll would be nice.” Jehan countered.

“Sweet. Let’s go then.” He put his hands in his jacket pockets, and smirked at Jehan’s puzzled expression. “What?” he asked.

“I know for a fact you live in that direction.” He pointed to the opposite way they were facing.

Courfeyrac wasn’t even fazed. “Well, someone needs to make sure our budding poet gets home safe and sound, don’t they?”

At first, Jehan balked at the idea of even needing to be protected; then he was amused because if anyone was better in a fight it was Jehan. Courfeyrac was always too open, and that would probably also be reflected in his fighting style. Jehan, though small, was quick and sharp like a thorn obscured from sight by the petals of the rose. “And then who’d make sure our resident flirt would get home okay?”

Courfeyrac looked at him from under his lashes, his sun kissed skin was illuminated strangely in the street lights and very out of place in the cold- but Courfeyrac had mentioned going on holiday with his parents in the summer before term started hadn’t he? Or had Jehan just made that up? “Well, I’m sure I can flirt my way into a tax--- you’re staring at me again!” Courfeyrac’s tone was half accusatory, half amused- as though he was used to his friends staring gormlessly at his face while he speaks.

“It does seem to be a habit of mine.” Jehan mumbled, but this time he blushed, maybe the alcohol had gone to his head.

Courfeyrac looked on at him kindly; maybe he sensed Jehan’s embarrassment or simply had no wish to pursue the subject further so he changed it. “Your poem was good.” He commented nonchalantly.

Jehan side-eyed him. “You once told me that you didn’t like poetry.”

“It’s not that I don’t _like_ it.” Courfeyrac shrugged, taking his hands out of his pockets to gesture. He tended to express his thoughts more through movement than actual words. “I just.. don’t get it. Why not just _say_ what you’re feeling? Rather than covering it up in symbolism and metaphors- not that I’m saying poetry is _bad._ Just why I don’t actively engage in poetry.”

“Sometimes people can’t say what they’re feeling, though.”

“True. But I’m talking modern poetry- not like eighteenth century illicit homosexuality type of poetry.”

“Well, to me, poetry is sort of a way… to figure out how you feel. Sometimes you’re so confused and you just need to get it out of you and on paper just so you can see what it is you are feeling. And you need these metaphors and such because there’s no accurate word to describe it.” Jehan said this all very quickly, in one breath, as though he had divulged something very personal about himself.

Courfeyrac’s face was serious as he took this in, wearing a frown Jehan had only seen once or twice as he debated on opposing sides with Enjolras. Usually he was Enjolras’ right hand man, it was rare they would disagree about anything. “Then you could just make up a word.” The seriousness was over, he had broken the tension. And Jehan was partly relieved, it was too late and too cold to discuss poetry; a subject he’d want to do justice, but another part of him was disappointed. It was nice being serious with Courfeyrac.

“Uh-huh. Is that what you’d do?”

“I have been known once or twice to divulge of my fee-diddly-darn-eelings in such a way.”

Jehan couldn’t help but laugh, and shake his head at his friend. “Go on, try out some poetry for me.” He asked. He wasn’t expecting Courfeyrac to smile and nod and accept the challenge.

“I’ll try. Can’t promise anything that great though.”

They had reached Jehan’s building- an ugly block of flats rented out to first year students of the university. He wondered if Montparnasse was home, or if he was still stalking the barely lit streets of the city. “If you put actual effort into it, I’m sure it can’t be bad.” He grinned, getting his keys out of his tight leather trouser pocket.

Courf watched him struggle, “want help getting it out?” he joked, putting on a seductive tone of voice. Jehan batted him with his free arm before successfully extracting the keys after removing his claddagh skull ring. 

“Good night, Courf.”

“See you later, little poet.” Courfeyrac winked, waited until Jehan was inside, before walking to his own flat, considering the poem he’d write for Jehan when he got the chance.

Jehan flung himself onto his bed after wriggling out of his pants. “Damn and double damn.” He sighed out loud. 


	3. modern poetry.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Courfeyrac tries his hand at poetry. Montparnasse is not a morning person.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the poem is actually one of mine, and you can find it at my hello poetry account. :)

Jehan woke up to a text message sent at 5:33 am from Courfeyrac. Either the kid barely slept or he’d been up all night.

_A flutter of hope  
a small catch of breath_

Jehan’s sleep addled brain took a while to realise these were the opening lines to a verse. He sat up excitedly, set his phone on the bedside table, and rubbed his eyes. He really wanted to continue reading, but he felt like he had to get up and ready before doing so. He hadn’t expected Courfeyrac to get to work so quickly. It usually took Jehan weeks to complete a poem worth publishing. He stumbled over to his bathroom, knocking loudly on the door when he found it locked.

Montparnasse emerged, black hair dripping with water, towel hastily tied around his hips. Skinny, ethereal, Jehan felt acute jealously at how even half naked and pink from the warm shower he still managed to pull off the I’m-cute-but-not-too-cute-to-punch-you look. “Mornin’.” Montparnasse mumbled.

“Hey. How was your night?” Jehan asked.

Montparnasse just stared at him, eyes unfocused. Jehan wondered once if his flat mate was high at eight in the morning every morning but after a few weeks of living together he realised that getting more than two syllables at a time out of ‘Parnasse before midday was a miracle. “Was good.”

“Oooh glad to hear it. Mine was too. The poetry reading. Went really well. Possibly my best one yet. And then Courfeyrac walked me home- you heard of Courfeyrac?” he paused, Montparnasse nodded, wandered into the kitchen quickly before coming back into the hallway with an apple. Jehan was sure that was _his_ apple, but he didn’t care enough at that moment to comment. “Well, yeah.. he walked me home.” Jehan trailed off, unsure of where the story was going to go. “It was good.” He shrugged, like it was no big deal.

Montparnasse bit into the red apple and chewed it for a moment, head tilted as though he was contemplating. “Cool.” Jehan smiled. “No hot water left.” Jehan’s smile vanished, as Montparnasse strolled into his room.

After the quickest, coldest shower imaginable, Jehan dressed himself in flannel pants and a button down shirt. He thought it looked good, but while he was in the kitchen making tea, Montparnasse grunted at the sight of him, so he supposed it didn’t. Careful not to spill the scolding tea over him, he returned to his phone and the poem that awaited him.

_A flutter of hope_

Jehan liked that. What a strong start.

_A small catch of breath._

Good, good, nice easy rhythm. A little basic, but it was his first poem! Jehan vaguely wondered if it would be love poetry, seeing as that was how most people began.

_A light blush, if I’m lucky._

Jehan could barely hold in his excitement. Courfeyrac could be showing a secret side to him through poetry!

_The heart pounds as you stare and you stare_

Jehan made an unintelligible noise. For some small reason quite unquantifiable he wondered if Courfeyrac was writing about him. Had he not been a blushing staring wreck last night? He wondered how he’d feel if Courfeyrac wrote love poetry to him. Courfeyrac had separated the stanza here, so he had to scroll down to find the last line.

_At the premium steak, medium rare._

Jehan deflated. It _was_ a good poem, he had used a nice rhythm, and the simplicity of it made it an easy and humorous thing to read- so why was he so bothered? Was he really expecting Courfeyrac to admit a crush through dumb text poetry? Hadn’t the guy just said the night before that he was just open with his feelings? Why would Jehan even think Courfeyrac had a crush on him? Did Courfeyrac even crush on anyone?

He wondered what to text back.

_Great start. A++. Keep up the good work, kiddo!_

He sighed, and began brushing out his hair for the long day ahead. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> very short- sorry! hope you all had a good christmas, the next update will be before the new year- and it will be much more interesting!


	4. ravishing debate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh no, Jehan thought, they’re debating again. 
> 
> Power trio friendship. Debates. E/R references.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY SO I LIED WHEN I SAID I'D UPDATE BEFORE THE NEW YEAR but whatever I doubt any of you were waiting for it desperately! This is a short filler; I was going to put ch.5 with it but then decided against as Chapter Five is longer, and has much heavier and deeper content that I'd quite like to keep separate. 
> 
> Anyway, enjoy.

Jehan walked into the top room of the Musain late. Enjolras had sent a facebook message telling everyone to come at six, and it was now pushing seven. Jehan had never been the best time keeper, and even when he was late he refused to rush himself, so he looked completely unapologetic as he walked in. His boots made loud noises as he sat in his place in between Bossuet and Bahorel, before noting he’d walked into something quite serious. Combeferre was stood against the fireplace, arms folded, looking intently at Courfeyrac, who was stood opposite him. Bunch of papers in hand. Red cheeks. Oh no, Jehan thought, they’re debating again.

It was hard to imagine, when you see them on a pitch such as this one, that they were best friends. Jehan had hardly believed it himself when he had first met them, sure that Courfeyrac’s angry gestures and use of expletives could never get along with Combeferre’s cool gaze and soft voice, but they do. Maybe Combeferre was air, and Courfeyrac fire, Jehan considered as he watched them,  and they danced a dance together; a warring of two elements in a way- but fire couldn’t exist without air in the first place. In truth, they enjoyed arguing against each other. It opened up ideas, and let out frustrations, they knew each so well that they knew exactly which areas to stay clear of and what were argument fodder.

Grantaire let out an audible sigh, and poured himself another glass of wine, emptying it. He opened another bottle they had at the table, and poured one for Joly also. “It’s going to be a long night, boys.” He muttered, and the rest smiled. Feuilly was watching them, head going back and forth like watching a tennis match. Enjolras had his eyes trained on his friends, ready to rescue whichever one seemed to be floundering first. At Grantaire’s quip he turned his head and shushed him; Grantaire did not speak another word all night.

After he and Combeferre were done, Courfeyrac sat in his seat beside Feuilly, opposite Jehan. His cheeks were still pink, hair mussed up. Should one look so ravished after a perfectly innocent debating spree? Jehan didn’t think it should be legal. But he didn’t understand why he was thinking these thoughts; Courfeyrac was not his type. Courfeyrac smiled too much, he was soft and round and looked like he would give amazing cuddles and those lips did look more inviting upturned than, say, Grantaire’s sad downturn—maybe it would even do Jehan some good to go for someone different—and why was he even thinking of this? One small chat with Courfeyrac and suddenly he’s crushing like a twelve year old.

Courfeyrac caught his eye, and raised an eyebrow. Jehan blinked, startled as he noticed he had been noticed, before pulling himself back and winking in response to Courfeyrac. Courf looked pleased. Jehan was pleased that Courfeyrac seemed pleased.

“Would you two stop flirting for just one moment and pay attention?” Enjolras looked to them both, eyebrows furrowed. He had some bar graphs in front of him and was in the middle of explaining them.

“I’ll try not to get distracted.” Courfeyrac joked lightly, wiggling his brows in a jokey manner at Jehan who had to bite the inside of his cheeks not to burst out giggling. 

**Author's Note:**

> I've tried to keep the city they're in a little vague- if you would imagine a kind of Gotham City of sorts (and now I want to write Enjolras as Batman crack fic, but that can wait for another day)- so I hope you forgive me for that.  
> Really hope you enjoyed reading- if so, please leave me a kudos/comment. C: xx


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